


All I Ask

by izloveshorses



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort/Angst, F/M, One Shot, Smut, consent but make it kinky, it's about the Hands™, it's about the Vulnerability™, see ladies this is what happens when we listen to hozier and think too hard about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izloveshorses/pseuds/izloveshorses
Summary: After spending a few days in Paris, Anya shares her worries of what will happen after she meets the Dowager with Dmitry. Is she really willing to leave him?
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	All I Ask

**Author's Note:**

> We've reached the point of quarantine where I of all people start writing smut
> 
> Set the night before iacot for drama purposes. Expect lots of Soft™
> 
> Edit: I'm a clown and a complete SHAM I forgot to mention suspenders!!! which are the whole point!!!! that error has been corrected, thank you for your patience

Anya followed Dmitry through the entrance to their hotel suite. Somewhere along the walk back from the club their giggles subsided into quiet, the conversation only exchanges of footsteps and the wind between them. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, even though they spent most of the night pretending they weren’t disappointed they didn’t dance together, but she let her mind wander to what was supposed to happen tomorrow and her nerves got the better of her.

The three of them had made it to Paris a few days ago. Tomorrow, she was to present herself to the Dowager Empress at the ballet and after that… well. If all went as planned she’d never see Vlad or Dmitry again. 

The thought made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. 

The lights were off. Vlad still hadn’t returned from the Neva Club or his search for Lily— back in Russia, that would’ve worried her, but she guessed Paris didn’t have secret police or anything of that sort to be afraid of. Maybe in this case not returning meant a successful trip.

Dmitry had tossed the key on the side table and was shrugging off his jacket when he noticed her hesitate by the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m—” she started to wave him off with an _I’m fine,_ but she met his eyes and knew that would be futile. Instead she sighed and sat on the sofa in the common area.

He gingerly sat next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly as she busied herself by taking off her shoes. When that task was done she folded her hands in her lap, unsure. A gentle spring rain started tapping on the window, the noise amplifying the silence. “I guess I’m a little nervous about tomorrow.”

She made the mistake of looking up at him. There was a crease between his eyebrows, eyes searching hers, leaning in close while still keeping a safe distance away. _Attentive. Concerned._ For him to be concerned meant he had to care, a thought that led down a path she never let herself follow.

His lips twitched upward. “It’s a shame, if there was a chalkboard around here we could go over the family tree one last time.”

“God, no.” She rolled her eyes but laughed anyway, appreciating his crooked grin and attempt to cheer her up. But then that fear stirred in the pit of her stomach again and a lump formed in her throat. “What if she doesn’t accept me.”

“She will,” he said immediately. 

“What if she doesn’t even see me?”

“She has to! I mean, we’ve come this far, and look at you!” She blushed. “There’s no way she could turn you away. Don’t worry about it, we’ve got nothing to lose at this point.”

She sighed. “But _what if._ What if we _do_ lose? Will you be mad at me?”

“Absolutely not.” he was shaking his head in disbelief. “Mad at her for being a fool, maybe, but not you. Never you…” he looked away and clenched his jaw. 

Tears threatened to spill over. “She might be the only family I have left. And if she turns me away, or if I really _don’t_ have a family… I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

He took her hand, trying to comfort her. “At least you’re safe now.”

“I know, but I just—” her breath hitched. She was startled by how quickly these emotions surfaced. “I just want to belong to someone.”

She’d said that to him once before. In a different world, it seemed. If someone had told her all those months ago that she’d be sitting here in tears at the thought of leaving him behind she never would’ve believed them. But here was the same boy, if not a little cleaner, wrapping her hand in both of his and scooting closer to her so their legs were touching, moving into her line of vision. “Hey, listen, I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But no matter what, you’ve still got me, okay? And— and Vlad,” he added hastily. “We’ll figure it out.”

She looked up to see those brown eyes were terribly close. How had she never noticed the little flecks of green in them, as if they were dusted with specks of paint? When had she grown so fond of them? Could she really handle the inevitable goodbye?

She didn’t know how it happened but the next thing she knew she was kissing him. Or maybe he was kissing her. Either way it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t coiling back and his hands covered the expanse of her back and his hair felt unbelievably soft between her fingers. 

A breath later she pulled away, their foreheads still touching. He blinked in surprise. “What was that for?”

She wasn’t sure what had come over her— be it the lack of supervision or the wine from dinner or her jumbled emotions or something else. Something that had been brewing in her heart for a while now. Finally, she landed on a reason that was perfectly acceptable. “I wanted to.” She shrugged. “Was… was that okay?”

The hair he’d carefully combed this afternoon was now sticking up in all sorts of angles thanks to her handiwork. Somehow that was her favorite way he looked— a little messy and rough and tired. He cleared his throat and realized he still hadn’t answered. “Uh, yeah— yes! Can I kiss you again?”

She laughed, relieved, and was already leaning back in. His lips were a little chapped but soft, pliant, open. His hands, calloused from the years of the harsh Russian winters and life in general, were surprisingly gentle as he glided them up to her shoulders and down her back, pulling her closer. He tasted sweet, unexpectedly, or maybe that was just her recent discovery of her desire for sweets affecting her thoughts. Or maybe craving his taste was just the same. The flavor of cigarettes and wine and something else was much more enticing than it should’ve been. His lips moved over hers slowly, patiently, waiting for her to catch up and set the pace. She had no idea how to ask for any of what she wanted— frankly, she had no idea _what_ she wanted, either— but he somehow knew how to wait for her to figure it out and let him give it to her. 

Dmitry broke away to shed his uncomfortable blue vest, nicer than the old wool one he wore on his way from Petersburg, but she was glad to be rid of it. Now she could trail her hands down from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and chest, his heartbeat solid and steady underneath. 

When his lips met hers again she was suddenly frustrated with whatever space was left between them. Carefully watching his face for any complaint, she climbed over so that she was straddling his lap, knees pressed into the back cushions of the sofa, toes hanging off the edge, fingers tugging both of his suspenders. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was almost smiling when he leaned in again, his hands moving from her back down to rest on top of her thighs, playing with the hem of her dress, sending a shiver down her spine. As if they had a mind of their own, her fingers found the top button of his shirt and she watched his throat bob.

She was vaguely aware of the downpour picking up outside, the rain slamming like pebbles onto the window, thunder rumbling in the distance. She liked it. It wasn’t sad like the autumn rains, but powerful, reviving, declaring the ground will be nurtured, and no one would get in its way.

Anya had no idea where the next urge came from, but she asked, thumb stroking the spot on his collarbone now peaking out, “Can I kiss you here?”

His hands halted and he pulled back to look at her. 

“Is that okay?” she asked again when he didn’t answer.

“Yeah, it’s just—” he swallowed and worried his lip. “No one’s ever asked me that before. If I’m okay, I mean.”

Her heart broke a little. How many times in his life had someone claimed him, his face, his body, as something for their own pleasure, only to toss him aside afterwards? How much had they taken from him? “I’m asking now.”

His expression was unreadable. Finally, he gave her a small nod, his hands resuming their path down her legs. She opened the next button below so she could spread the collar of his shirt further apart. He gasped when her lips grazed his skin, his hands stopped moving and gripped a little tighter, spurring her to continue her path up his neck.

“How does that feel?” she whispered.

He moaned in response and she smiled, a new type of satisfaction settling behind her ribs as she worked her way up to his jaw. His hands still gripped her thighs behind her knees, but she realized she felt like she needed them somewhere else.

“You can move your hands up if you want,” she said against the pulse point under the corner of his jaw.

When he spoke his voice vibrated against her at this proximity. “What if Vlad comes in?”

She laughed at the absurdity of it all and leaned her forehead into his shoulder. She felt him laugh too, his hands moving up to her back again and he kissed her shoulder. He was right— if Vlad were to burst through the door right now it’d be very difficult to figure out how to explain themselves. They were quite the mess, the pair of them. The thought made her pull back to look at him and gave her an idea. A reckless one.

“We could go to my room...”

His lips were slightly parted. “Anya, are you sure?”

“Would I be sitting here if I wasn’t?” she answered with a grin.

“I know, I know,” he laughed but fell serious again. “It’s just… I don’t think you were treated very well before and… I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She bit her lip. He wasn’t wrong— living in the streets, she was used to rough and cruel hands that only had their own goals in mind. Months ago she never imagined herself wanting anything like this. But the fact that Dmitry had noticed, had bothered to ask, had even _cared…_ The emotions in her heart surged forward like the next wave of rain outside. She reached up to stroke his cheek, thumb landing in his dimple. “That’s how I know you won’t hurt me.”

He studied her for a minute and swallowed. Finally his hands slowly moved up her legs, to her back, to her shoulders, lifting her arms so they were looped around his neck. “I promise I’ll be careful,” he whispered so quietly she almost missed it. She nodded, her nose brushing his, gripping the back of his shirt. He kissed her gently, sealing his promise, and moved his hands back down so he could lift her as he rose from the uncomfortable sofa, muscles shifting underneath her palms.

Her feet settled back on the soft carpeting next to her bed. Warmth bloomed from where his lips touched her neck, spreading down with his fingers, unzipping the back, trailing down to each new inch of skin exposed. When the dress and her silk slip were discarded to the floor, she started working on the comical amount of pins in her hair, a little distracted by the hands on her waist and the kisses he was leaving on her back. She realized he was intentionally following the old paths of her deepest, ugliest scars, and she didn’t think her chest was big enough to contain the love she felt for him in that moment.

Pulling the last pin from her head, her hair fell to her shoulders in large, heavy curls, free from the chignon, and he brushed the locks off of her neck.

“Your turn,” she managed in a soft voice. She could feel him smile against her skin and his breath made her shiver as she slowly turned to face him.

His eyes were dark with desire, something she’d only seen traces of before now, when his gaze would flicker away quickly and he’d busy his hands— well, his hands were certainly busy now, but his eyes were locked on her, his eyebrows turned upwards. _Focused. Adoring._ She pulled his hand, large and knotted with a lifetime of fights he never wanted, and kissed the middle knuckle, hoping he understood what she didn’t have the words to say.

His brow softened and in one fluid motion he tucked his thumbs underneath his suspenders to pull them off of his shoulders and let them drop to his sides as she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He helped her untuck it and slide his arms out of the sleeves, and her hands moved down his chest, over his old undershirt, and then to his abdomen, tugging that last layer up and away. 

She knew he… well, she figured he had a decent body underneath all that wool. That much was obvious. But how he managed to take care of himself this well on such a limited diet, Anya would never be able to figure out. What she expected to be slim and a little malnourished turned out to be sturdy and strong, hills and valleys of earned muscle, and she let her hands wander across his broad chest, taking her time to familiarize herself with this new side of him. Some spots of skin were pinker than others— a mark on his side, perhaps from a cut and hasty stitches, some scratches across his shoulder… and her heart broke for him all over again. Too many scars to count between the two of them. _Takes one to know one,_ she thought, and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

Dmitry pulled her close as she grazed kisses across his chest. When she reached the other side he tilted her head up to give her a kiss, her hands sliding down his arms, then down to his waist, tugging at his belt. His pants fell to the floor with finality and he stepped backward to the narrow bed, gently pulling her hands as he sat down. 

Anya crawled over to straddle him again as he leaned back against the headboard. When her weight shifted on him he let out a curse, his head back, biting his lip in restraint. She raised an eyebrow and smirked— she hadn’t realized she was capable of making him feel this way. He wrapped his arms around her back as she kissed him and trailed her fingers over his collarbone.

“Anya?” Dmitry started, pulling away.

“Hmm?”

“If we don’t see each other after tomorrow—”

She shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

 _“Please,”_ he whispered, desperate for her to hear what he was about to say. She nodded, her fingers tracing his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Here he was, pouring his heart out to her, his icy walls in ruins, letting himself fall vulnerable around her, and she was supposed to— she was supposed to leave him. How could she, after all they’d been through? After this? How could—

She interrupted her own thoughts by pressing her lips to his and he took the hint and responded enthusiastically. There. No more thinking. Only the now. And right now, she was annoyed with any inch of fabric between his hands and her skin.

He hesitated, his hands stretching from the top frill of her bloomers to the bottom of her new brassiere, and she guided them higher to where it was laced, the garment soon joining the pile on the floor, revealing more puckered skin. He brushed a loose curl over her shoulder out of the way so he could kiss every scar left by whatever lurked behind the mysterious shroud of her past. She tilted her head back, letting herself enjoy the warmth from his hands and mouth and how his arms felt under her palms. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if he could hear it over the rain and rumbling thunder.

Without warning he rolled them over so that he was now hovering above her, his hair a beautiful disaster, eyes dark. “Are you okay?” 

She searched her mind for the familiar feeling of being trapped, endangered, the need to escape the small and squeaky bed, but all she felt was anticipation bubbling low in her gut. She nodded.

Then the last layers of undergarments were shed, leaving oceans of skin to swim through and explore. His dark eyes roamed hungrily, plotting his path, and she felt a new wave of pleasure wash over her from being seen as something to desire. His kisses moved down, teeth grazing certain spots and leaving little red marks, shallowing her breath, making the fingers gripping his hair tighten, a new heat rising between her legs. He hesitated just below her navel and looked up. A question. 

“Well,” she breathed, “don’t stop.” 

He laughed. “There’s the Anya I know.” 

He resumed where he left off, lifting her right leg so he could brush his lips over the soft skin inside her thigh, and he switched to the other one, before he finally found where she needed him most. She gasped and her hips bucked reflexively. His hands moved to hold her still and she could feel the smirk against her, tongue licking across the most sensitive spots. She gripped the sheets for support, toes curled, before she tumbled over the edge, a blinding flash of heat erasing any words in her mind, every muscle in her body arched.

When she came back down to earth he was crawling back up and wiping the corner of his mouth, his weight settling on top of her. She pulled him down to kiss that satisfied smirk off his face and enjoyed his new taste. 

She pushed him up a little so she could run her hands down the miles of skin on his chest again. He smiled softly down at her, dimples barely peeking out. “Are you sure you want…”

“Yes,” she said immediately, brushing her fingers over his lips. “I want all of you.”

He swallowed. Then, his touch as gentle and light as fresh snow fluttering to the ground, his hand enveloped hers, thumb brushing over the back of it, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, guiding it to the nape of his neck. 

She locked her ankles around him, not to cage him in or confine him, but to show she was absolutely sure about this. About how she felt about him. _Please don’t leave me._

He must’ve understood, because, without breaking eye contact, he moved one hand to her hip and lowered himself into her. They both moaned and he stilled as he waited for her to adjust.

“You okay?” he murmured in her ear.

She managed a nod. “Are you?”

He lifted his head to look at her, noses brushing— still not used to someone taking care of him, she guessed— and he kissed her cheek. “Never better.”

Watching her face for any sign of discomfort, he slowly rolled his hips, creating the friction she needed. Once they settled into a rhythm he buried his face between her neck and shoulder while her nails left marks on his back. He whispered her name like it was the only word he knew, and she lost herself in the symphony of curses and prayers, of moans and the rhythmic squeak of the bed, of rocking hips and fingers digging into skin, of rain pounding on the roof and thunder matching the intensity of what she was feeling. A symphony of him and her. Heat stretched to the ends of each of her limbs, warming her palms, making her skin tingle.

Too soon, his movement staggered. “Anya, I—”

“It’s okay,” she tilted his chin up at her. “It’s okay.”

His breath was ragged and heavy as he continued in an uneven rhythm, grip on her hip bruising tight, grounding her as she searched for a hold, hands roaming his back or gripping his hair. That heat was building again, but it wasn’t until his free hand found where they were joined and moved in time with his hips that she saw stars. 

He fell limp and they both tried to catch their breaths. One of her hands rested above her head and the other was threading its fingers through his hair, and she slowly became aware of her surroundings again. Somewhere a cold draft reached her and made her shiver. There wasn’t enough room for him to roll onto his back so for several minutes they just remained tangled up in each other, letting herself enjoy the weight and warmth of him and what it was like to feel loved. 

“You okay?” he asked again when he recovered. 

She rubbed a strand of hair between her thumb and index finger. “I’m wonderful.”

After returning from the bathroom, she picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it over her shoulders, buttoning it up on her way to the bed, smiling to herself when the soft material almost reached her knees. He’d crawled under the comforter and his eyes followed her the whole way. She climbed back into his embrace, nestling herself in his warmth, draping one leg over his midsection, and he pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, planting a kiss on her head. He moved his hand to rest at his side but she caught it and guided it to her back— she’d need that protection against whatever would happen when the sun rose. 

A few minutes of quiet passed before she whispered, “What are we going to do, Dmitry?”

A deep breath made his chest rise and sink beneath her. “I don’t know.” There was another long stretch of silence, the rain slowing its attack on the window, his fingers trailing lightly up and down her back, before he continued, “But for now, you can belong with me, if you want.”

She pushed herself up to look down at him. His hair was an absolute mess, his lips a little swollen, his eyes sleepy but serious. She decided to figure out the details later. For now, at least, this was the only home she really needed. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and let her fingers trace his brow and nose and carefully rest over his dimple before kissing him with all her might.

“I’m so glad I found you, Dima,” she said softly when she pulled away.

He swallowed and brushed her hair over her shoulder and out of her face. “Me too.”

He held her so tight it would’ve been impossible for any nightmares to squeeze in between them to torment her. Usually it took her hours to fall asleep, but as she listened to the steady and surefooted beat of his heart, she realized, for the first time, she wasn’t afraid of what horrors were waiting for her. He’d be there to pull her back to reality.


End file.
